That day messengers were sent out from Borg to all the farmers round, to say that Ørlygur à Borg was willing to buy wool for cash, at the same prices as offered by the trader.
Next morning, he sent off one of his men with a letter and a saddle-horse to Jon Borgari. Jon read the letter, mounted at once, and rode back to Borg, where he was closeted with Ørlygur for some time. When he left the place, he looked as if ten years had fallen from his shoulders.
The farmers understood that Ørlygur’s offer to buy their wool for cash was equivalent to a command—they must choose between him and the trader. And they did not hesitate a moment.
Ørlygur paid them in gold and silver. Then, with his help, they wrote out the lists of the goods they required, the lists being subsequently handed to Jon Borgari. Jon was now Ørlygur’s ally, and in a very short time his unpretending little store was threatening the trade of Bjarni Jonsson’s own.
Bjarni Jonsson’s trick had recoiled upon himself. He got Sera Daniel’s wool—but not a pound from any one beside.
CHAPTER III
One burning hot afternoon, late in the summer, Ormarr was sitting up on the edge of a high ridge of Borgarfjall, to the west of Borg. A great flock of sheep grazed on the plateau below.
Ormarr, as shepherd, found his task light. It was just after lambing-time, and for the first two or three days the sheep had been difficult to handle. Full of anxiety, and bleating piteously, they rushed about in all directions, vainly seeking their offspring. Now, however, they had more or less accustomed themselves to the new state of things, and kept fairly well together, so that Ormarr was free to devote most of his time to his favourite pursuits: playing the violin, and dreaming.
He made a curious picture, this fourteen-year-old peasant lad, as he sat there, clad in rough homespun, his clothes fitting clumsily, and hiding the lithe beauty of his frame. The clear-cut face, the strong chin resting on the violin, and the lean hand with its supple fingers running over the strings, contrasted strangely with the everyday coat, darned and patched in many places.
Often he fell into a reverie, his dark eyes gazing on the distant mountains, the fingers relaxing, and the slender brown hand with the bow resting on his knee. The face, too thin for a boy of his age, bore a grave and thoughtful expression, with a touch of melancholy. The black masses of curling, unruly hair, and the faint coppery tinge in the skin, suggested Celtic descent.